prelude (a lovely pair of eyes)
by scribblingnellie
Summary: Curiosity, fascination, attraction. Doctor Hooper and Inspector Lestrade discover that there's something they rather like about each other. And it's not just those gorgeous eyes! An Edwardian AU fic with Molly as a pioneering female doctor and Greg as an enlightened Scotland Yard Inspector. For Holly.


The first time he met her she was pointing to the notice next to the sink, placed directly over the dark green tiles.

_Please refrain_

_from smoking_

_in this mortuary_

'The ash and fumes can interfere with findings from the bodies,' she explained as she walked across the mortuary, tying her apron in place.

Twenty years a policeman, Greg still found the medical side of his job a little perplexing and was very happy to take the word of anyone more expert than him in such matters.

'Yes, of course, my apologies. I'm Inspector Lestrade.' Holding out his other hand, he stowed the unlit cigarette away in his coat pocket. 'You must be Doctor Hooper.'

'I am.' Pausing briefly, she looked straight at him before down at his proffered hand. And as a small smile crossed her lips, she placed her hand in his and shook firmly. 'A pleasure to meet you, Inspector.'

'Sherlock speaks very highly of you.' Feeling her soft skin against his, he rather hoped they could keep holding hands for a while longer.

'And he speaks highly of you as well.'

'Does he? Seriously?'

A gentle laugh escaped from her lips. 'You sound surprised.'

'I am. He certainly never, well he rarely says anything complementary to me in person.'

And as they stood there, hands still held, Greg found he could not look away from her eyes. Inquisitive, brown eyes looking directly into his.

'Ah, Molly, there you are.'

The deep voice made them both jump, and they quickly let go of the other's hand. Greg cleared his throat and looked over as the consulting detective strode his way across the room to the two bodies laid out ready. Calling upon Sherlock Holmes at Baker Street only the day before, Greg had found him insistent that he would only work with a Doctor Hooper, newly positioned at St Bartholomew's Hospital, and not with the Yard's regular, Doctor Anderson. Which Greg was quite willing to accommodate, prepared as he was to do whatever was needed to help solve the case, including incurring the wrath of the Chief Inspector once again. And Sherlock and Anderson really did not get on; the less time they spent in each other's company the better for everyone.

'So, let us see what it is that Scotland Yard cannot, shall we?' Sherlock leaned over the first body.

Raising his eyebrows, Greg looked back at Doctor Hooper. Smiling, she tapped the side of her nose before picking up her pencil and notebook. Greg couldn't help smiling back; there was something he found he rather liked about her.

The next time he met her, two days later, she rendered his superior officer speechless.

Arriving at Scotland Yard to hand over her findings, Doctor Hooper found herself face to face with the pomposity of an unenlightened police officer. Having escorted her to the office of his Chief Inspector, Greg could feel his anger rising at the refusal of his boss to accept her reports as legitimate, professional or admissible - a female doctor? Working in a mortuary?

Doctor Hooper listened to every word of his superior's patronising ranting calmly; her face composed, her expression unreadable. As the Chief Inspector waved away the reports about the two bodies - bodies which were found within days of each other, suffocated in what appeared to be the same way in their respective gardens - she gathered the rejected papers from the desk, placing them carefully back into her leather satchel. But she did not leave straight away as the man across the desk had demanded she do.

'If you wish to consult another doctor for their professional opinion, you are perfectly at liberty to do so.' She picked up her gloves and Greg watched her precise movements as she pulled each one on in turn. 'Though I feel I should warn you that you may need to explain to Sir Mycroft Holmes why you saw fit to disregard the findings of the doctor he himself appointed to St Bartholomew's mortuary. Good day, sir.'

Priceless. The look on his superior's face was worth all the aggravation the man put him through over his dealings with Sherlock Holmes. To see him go from flummoxed to concerned to downright terrified over the course of less than a minute was a joy to witness.

Detective Inspector Lestrade knew then that Doctor Molly Hooper was definitely someone different and new and fascinating. And someone he wanted to work with again.

* * *

><p>'Of all the arrogant, small minded...'<p>

Words failed her. Pulling at the heavy wooden door, Molly felt like shouting. Clenching her fists inside the new kid leather gloves, she tried to calm her breathing as she stood outside on the top step. How she had managed not to throw the reports at the man's face she wasn't completely sure. She should be used to such behaviour - the patronising tone, the dismissal of the idea that she, as a woman, was worthy of their attention and time - but she still allowed it to anger her.

Having brought her breathing back to a calm, regular pattern Molly adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder and started to cross the road towards the Embankment. The walk back to Barts would do her good, even in the ridiculous skirt with the silly high buttoned up waist and heavy fabric getting in the way as she navigated her way along the pavement. She thought of the trousers that her mother had made for her, hanging up in her office. Perfect loose waist for walking but even Molly Hooper, one of the few female doctors actually practicing in London, wasn't brave enough to wear them outside the confines of home or her office. As soon as she got back, she would change.

Aside from the exercise and fresh air - though how fresh it was with the new motor cars now greatly outnumbering horse drawn carriages was debatable - the walk would allow her an opportunity to ponder those eyes. The pair of serious, lovely brown eyes in the thoughtful, handsome face of Detective Inspector Lestrade. From the corner of her eye she saw how he listened intently as she offered the Chief Inspector a summary of her findings, his stance and expression so unlike those of his senior officer. It may have been possible that there were other people, other men aside from the Holmes brothers, that were not hostile to the idea of a female doctor and Inspector Lestrade appeared to be one of those people. And such a handsome man as well.

Shaking her head, Molly carried on along the crowded pavement, negotiating her way over to the river, seeking out a cool breeze to help clear her head.

'Read all about it! Third body found. Garden strangler strikes again. Read all about it!'

The young boy with his cap crooked, holding the afternoon edition aloft, caught her attention. Whatever progress they had made in science and medicine and technology, the newspapers still seemed to be stuck in the days of Victorian sensationalism. Molly reached into her bag, feeling about for a loose penny, and handed it to the boy.

'Thank you, miss. There you are.' Expertly folding the paper one handed for her. 'Mind how you go now, miss... Read all about it! Garden Strangler strikes again!' And he carried on, accepting his next customer's penny for the gory details.

A quick scan of the article revealed very little; few actual details and quite a large amount of lurid speculation. Strangler? The bodies had been suffocated. Where did they get their information from? Oh well. Tucking the paper into the front of her bag, Molly resumed her journey back to Barts. If this latest murder was the same as the others, then she knew what she would find once she arrived at the hospital. Under the influence of his well positioned civil servant brother, Sherlock had been given access to the investigation, which meant that this new body would find its way into her mortuary.

And the thought that a certain intriguing Inspector with lovely eyes from Scotland Yard would be there, seeing as it was his case after all, helped to quicken her step.

* * *

><p>'It is obvious, Lestrade, if you take the time to observe carefully.'<p>

'Perhaps it is to you.' Greg tried to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. 'But not everyone in this room is blessed with your vast intellect and abilities.'

'Well of course none of you are.'

'So...?'

Restraining himself as Sherlock let out one of his overly dramatic sighs, one he often made at being compelled to explain his deductions to others, Greg let his glance cross to where Doctor Hooper was standing at the other end of the mortuary table.

Eyes bright, her cheeks still slightly pink from her hurried entry into the morgue - apologising profusely as she had bustled through the door, struggling with tying her apron around her waist - he found himself tuning out Sherlock's rambling speech. And it wasn't the rarity of a woman working at such a profession that made him unable to take his eyes from her; female or male, what did it matter if you could do the job? What caught and fascinated him was the attention she gave her work. Bent over the body, gently examining the middle aged lady on her mortuary table, Doctor Hooper made notes in her small book, carrying on with her external examination quietly and calmly, a complete contrast to Sherlock.

'Lestrade?' Sherlock's voice intruded into his thoughts. 'Have you been listening to any of what I have been telling you?'

'Sorry?' Pulling his eyes away from her beautiful face, and the stray lock of hair falling from its pin.

'Hmm, obviously not.' A quick look over to the other end of the table and Sherlock was back staring at him, one eyebrow raised. 'Do pay attention. There will be time to admire Doctor Hooper at work when I am finished.'

Mortified, Greg gave her an apologetic look, though whether he was doing so for his own behaviour or for their friend's he didn't know; it was probably both. Looking up from the corpse, Doctor Hooper offered him a small reassuring smile, which made his heart beat just that little bit faster. Dropping her head back down to her notebook, the movement was not quick enough to hide what he was sure was a soft blush stealing across her cheeks. And that only added to the beauty of her face.

Forcing himself to give his full attention back to Sherlock, Greg tucked the sight of her smile away in his mind, next to the hope he was forming there; a hope of conversing with her, alone. If he could just get Sherlock to finish his long winded deductions and be off in search of Doctor Watson.

* * *

><p>'Doctor Hooper?'<p>

That took her by surprise. Usually it was Miss Hooper, or an expression which disguised itself as polite but in which the patronising was unmissable.

But then why wouldn't Inspector Lestrade use her title? He had done so when they'd first met. He'd shown himself to be a professional, intelligent man; listening to her findings, asking questions, seeking clarification and explanations.

Molly turned at the sound of his hesitant voice. Drying her hands on the linen towel , she smiled as he stood by the mortuary table, hands in his coat pockets.

'I didn't apologise before.. for the behaviour of the Chief Inspector. I am sorry for how he treated you.'

'Thank you, though you don't need to apologise for him.' Dropping the towel back on the bench, Molly reached round to undo the ties of her apron. 'I'm quite used to such attitudes.'

'Well, you shouldn't have to be.' He sounded indignant on her behalf. 'You're an excellent doctor.'

Her heart skipped over a couple of beats at his honest compliment. She hadn't expected that either. The more time she spent with him, the more Molly liked him.

'I, um... thank you...'

'You're very welcome.'

Suddenly feeling shy at his compliment, and at his eyes once again looking rather seriously into hers, she focused back on her hands attempting to release her from the apron. And it was then she realised somehow the ties had knotted themselves together and wouldn't give.

'Oh, bother it!' Molly gave the strings a frustrated tug.

'Is everything ok?'

Shaking her head, she turned her back to show him the apron. Hearing his throaty laugh as he walked over to her, she soon felt his fingers pulling at the strings. Stood close behind her, his presence sent a small shiver along her back.

'I'm so sorry about this.' Feeling a little foolish, she turned her head, trying to look over her shoulder at Inspector Lestrade's attempt to undo the knots. 'I'm not usually so clumsy.'

'Not a problem at all. I think I've nearly got it.'

As he spoke, she felt his breath on her neck and, try as she did to stop it, found herself blushing. The only man who had ever stood this close to her before had been Sherlock, and that was only because he did not understand the conventions of propriety or personal space as he worked.

Though right then, Molly was sure she was not acting with propriety herself. Allowing a man she didn't know to be alone with her, trying to untie the knotted strings of her apron, standing so close to her back that she could feel his arm accidentally brush against her.

'Right, now.. I think.. if I just take this one over here and...'

Goosebumps ran along her neck and down her arms as she again felt his breath tickle at her skin. Molly focused on her breathing - slowly in and out, one at a time. It was just someone helping her to untangle the mess she'd made of the apron ties, she reasoned with herself; there was nothing more to the situation than that.

'Got it!'

And she felt the apron loosen around her. Turning, Molly found his hands taking hold of the strap around her neck, his fingers resting briefly on her shoulders, his eyes catching hers. Looking down, Molly tried to stop her heart beating so fast, as she allowed him to slip the strap over her head; something which she should had done herself. Not that she thought he was taking a liberty, but if someone were to walk in and see them, that would be slightly awkward.

'Sorry.'

His voice was almost a whisper and she looked back up at him. The apron held in front of him, Inspector Lestrade seemed a bit surprised by what he had just done.

'I am sorry. I really shouldn't have done that, completely inappropriate. I should..' Hesitating, he passed her the apron, stepping away from her. '..I'm sorry. I should go, allow you to write up your report.'

Instinctively she reached out and placed her hand on his arm, making him stop as he turned to go. She didn't want him to leave, not just yet. Both of them dropped their gaze to her hand as it rested on his jacket sleeve. Molly could feel his arm through the material; a strong, steady arm.

'Would you like some tea?' Of all the things to say, it had suddenly popped into her head. 'I mean, I was going to make some anyway.. it helps me concentrate when I'm writing up my findings and I thought, well if you'd like to I'm sure I have an extra cup and saucer.. if you would like to join me, that is.'

Pausing, she folded the apron in her arms as she avoided looking at him. Of course, the Inspector would not stay, he would have urgent things to attend to. Why would he want to stay to drink tea with her?

'I'd like that.'

'You would?' Quickly lifting her head up, Molly found he had moved closer to her; his eyes, those deep brown eyes, were holding hers.

'Yes, I would.'

And his wide, kind smile made her feel just a little weak at the knees.

'Ok.'

* * *

><p>Watching her pour a second cup for him, Greg found, once again, that he could not take his eyes from her. He was drawn to Doctor Hooper, and this only their third meeting. Was there such a thing as love at first sight? For a forty five year old detective, he was quite certain there was not; particularly not with the younger, intelligent woman whose company he found himself in. But there he was, sitting at the laboratory table, sharing a pot of tea and unable to stop looking at her.<p>

'Thank you,' he said, pulling his cup and saucer back towards him.

Smiling, she placed the tea strainer in her cup and began pouring. 'You're welcome, Inspector.'

As he brought the cup up to his lips, taking a small sip, Greg tried to gather his courage together. If they could sit there drinking tea, comfortable with each other, perhaps he could ask her? As much as he was all for the proprieties which governed interactions between unmarried men and women, he wondered if she might consider it.

'May I ask you something?' Placing his cup back in its saucer, Greg ran his thumb over the handle, pondering whether it was a good idea so early in their acquaintance.

'Of course.'

'If you don't feel comfortable, please say so, but I just wanted to ask.. would you..'

Hesitating, Greg ran his hand over his eyes. Seriously, he was no good at this sort of thing. His divorce, as well as being the subject of Yard gossip and much disfavour within his family, had quite crushed his confidence where romance and women were concerned. Opening his eyes, he saw Doctor Hooper waiting, looking expectantly at him over her cup, her eyes and her smile encouraging.

What the heck.

'Would you call me Greg? I mean, only if you're comfortable with that, of course. It's just that Inspector Lestrade sounds rather formal and I know we're colleagues but I...'

The feel of her hand gently covering his made him stop suddenly; he was rambling. Staring down at her delicate fingers as they rubbed against his, Greg could feel his heart turn over and his fingers tingle, very aware of her touch.

'Greg, I would be very happy to.' Letting her fingers curl around his. 'And please, call me Molly.' 

* * *

><p><strong>For Holly, who bid for my fic in the Mark Gatiss Birthday Auction over on Tumblr, and was keen on a Molly and Greg AU! A new experiment in Edwardian Sherlock. Many thanks for reading.<strong> 


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